


A Virtuous Fall

by JenlockPilgrim



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-27
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/916040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenlockPilgrim/pseuds/JenlockPilgrim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And then it all happened all too quick. A dark object fell right outside her window and landed on the pavement below."<br/>When Molly agreed helping Sherlock she never realized what it will cost her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, first Sherlolly fic I have ever published. I figured it's about time.  
> I would really like to thank Julia, you can find her here: http://thesignofholmes.tumblr.com/  
> She helped me figure out the name for this fic. It's a reference to a quote from Shakespeare's "Measure for Measure":  
> "Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall."  
> I hope you'll enjoy reading it :)

Molly imagined having him in her flat endless times before- but never like this. She imagined him in her bed, smiling at her, and in her kitchen, having a cup of coffee the morning after. She imagined him striding in and taking her in his arms, claiming her to be his, and his only. But she never imagined him sitting in her kitchen, looking so pale and defeated as she cleaned the wounds on his forehead.

"You have to stay still, Sherlock," she said gently when he flinched from her touch, "I know it hurts."

He closed his eyes and nodded slightly. When she told him she knows, she wasn't sure to what she was referring- the wound or the past twenty-four hours, though she was sure the later was worse. Losing all he had, his reputation, his life. Losing John.  
Molly could only hope she'll be able to offer him some comfort.

"I'm done," she said after a few moments of silence. Sherlock opened his eyes, and his cold blue stare pierced through her like a sharp chip of ice stabbing her chest.

"Thank you, Molly."

"Y-yes, Sherlock, you’re welcome," her speech stuttered from exhaustion. She looked down at her palms, painted red with his blood. The look horrified her, and she jumped from her sit, moving quickly to the sink. She started washing her hands, scrubbing them over and over again. She wanted to wash away what has happened, what she had done- as much as she knew it saved Sherlock's life, it was still illegal. And John. Oh, poor John.

 

_TEN HOURS EARLIER_

 

"Remember, you must act as if-"

"-as if everything is normal, I know, Sherlock," Molly cut him off. "That is, until you'll kill yourself, of course. Then I should be upset, but not unstable. I must insist of preforming the post mortem, to which John will agree, as he knows me and trusts me."

Sherlock nodded. "Very well." He nodded once more, as if he is not sure what to do next. He turned to exit the small supply room in which they were in the last few hours, but stopped as his hand touched the door knob. Without turning, he thanked her quietly and then left the room.

"Be careful," she called after him.

Molly took a few deep breaths and then stepped outside as well. By the time she turned around the corner to the lift, he was gone. She decided to take the stairs and climbed a few stories, to where she knew she could see everything happening.

It felt like eternity until she saw John in the street below her, his cellphone at his ear. She couldn't see his face clearly from the distance, but she knew exactly who was on the other side of the line.

And then it all happened all too quick. A dark object fell right outside her window and landed on the pavement below.

Molly shrieked and covered her mouth with her hands quickly. “This is just as we planned,” she thought to herself as she made her way back to the morgue.

The morgue was always so quiet. To most people it reminded the silence of the dead, cold and disturbing. But for Molly it was peaceful. The quietness usually calmed her down, allowing her to ease her breath and think properly. She enjoyed sitting in the cool room, completing her paperwork. But today, she felt odd sitting there and pretending to fill a paper, while she knew what was about to happen. She wondered how long it will take for someone to even consider calling to tell her. Or if she'll have to wait for them to stroll in the body.

Her foot tapped the floor, exposing her nervousness. "Calm down, Molly," she whispered to herself and took a deep breath.

After about fifteen minutes, the morgue’s phone rang, cutting through the air and violating the silence. Molly jumped in surprise and reached for it.

"Yes?" she mumbled into the phone's receiver.

"Molly, dear god, have you heard?" she recognized Mike Stamford's voice.

"Heard what?"

"Oh, Christ, you haven't." He was quiet for a moment. "It's Sherlock."

"To what trouble did he get himself into this time?" she made an attempt at a joke.

"Christ, Molly. He's dead."

"Wh-what?"

"Yes. Killed himself."

"No, you've got to be wrong. I mean- why would Sherlock Holmes do anything like that?"

"They say he was a fake, Molly. He jumped off Bart's roof, probably, what, twenty minutes ago? According to the radio, anyway."

"I-I have to go, than."

"Wait, Molly, do you want me to come? I mean, you shouldn't be the one to- ah, you know."

"No, don't. Sorry, I have to go," and with that she hanged up.

Molly hurried outside the morgue, running down the hall to the lift. Just as she reached it, the doors slide open, and she knew it was only the beginning.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay this is even a bit longer than the first one!  
> Sorry about all the angst. It won't all be like that. But most of it probably will.  
> I hope you'll enjoy reading it :)  
> Also, I won't be home for a few days so I'll probably update only on Monday.

_PRESENT TIME_

Molly closed the water tap and dried her hands with a clean towel. After a moment she turned around to Sherlock. He was still sitting in her kitchen chair, his shoulders hunched and his hand down. She wondered if he was playing the day’s events over and over in his mind like she was doing, or if he managed to avoid those memories.

“Sherlock,” she said quietly, “I think we should both get some rest. And I can take the couch, I think you need the bed more than I do.”

Sherlock looked up at her and Molly noticed a small smile on his lips. “Isn’t being a gentleman supposed to be my job?”

“Well, given the circumstances, I think I can forgive you for being your usual self,” she managed to continue his joke.

“Its fine, Molly, I don’t I will be getting much sleep tonight,” he took a deep breath, and his smile disappeared. Molly examined his tired face, the black bags forming under his eyes.

“If you don’t want to be alone, Sherlock, you can, you know,” her speech fumbled, “we could share the bed,” she finished her sentence in a voice close to a whisper and then continued quickly, “but if that’s not the case, you don’t have to sleep. Although I think you should.”

He pondered her words for a moment before saying, “That would actually be nice.”

“Yes, alright,” Molly nodded and made her way to her bedroom, with Sherlock following in tail. She slipped out of her shoes and freed her hair and then sunk to the right side of the bed in her cloths. She was too tired to change into her pajamas, let alone take a shower, and figured Sherlock felt the same as he slipped into the bed beside her still fully dressed as well.

They ley in the dark, close enough to feel each other’s presence, but not touching. Although she was tired, Molly couldn’t fall asleep and found herself thinking about what had happened again.

 

_SIX HOURS EARLIER_

Molly took a deep breath before leaving the morgue with a file folder in hand. She walked down the hall to the small room meant for families of victims, waiting to hear the bad news. She always hated doing that, going through the details of the autopsy with the victim’s loved ones. Hearing their cries, seeing their tears and pain. But it was part of the job.

She wondered who would be waiting for her behind the door. She hesitated, but finally her hand pushed down the door knob and she entered.

“Oh, Molly!” a woman called out and immediately wrapped her arms around her.

“Mrs. Hudson,” Molly recognized the landlady and hugged her back. “Mrs. Hudson, I’m so sorry,” she mumbled.

“It’s not your fault, dear,” the landlady took a step back and Molly noticed the tears in her eyes. “But I don’t understand, why did you have to do this? Couldn’t someone else take care of this?”

“Oh, no, I- I insisted.”

Molly skimmed the room. Greg was standing in one of the corners, his back hunched and hands in his pockets. He looked up to her and tried to pull up a smile for her. Molly nodded in return. Greg was always so nice and kind to her, asking how she was every time he stopped by the morgue. Making sure Sherlock wasn’t bothering her too much. How could she lie to him now? How could he look him in the eye and say the man he trusted did kill himself?

She looked away to see John sitting on one of the chairs, his elbows resting on his thighs and his head between his hands.

“Well,” Molly cleared her throat, “there were a few broken ribs which caused internal bleeding and a punctured lung. But the main cause of death was the head trauma. The injuries were all caused from the landing, and the angle of the fall itself suggests that the jump wasn’t forced.”

“Wasn’t forced?” John asked, looking up. His eyes were red a swelling from crying and his voice hoarse. “Of course it was forced.”

“According to the autopsy and the eye witnesses’ testimony one of the officers brought me-“

“You don’t honestly think he jumped,” John cut her off yelling, “because he wanted to. Moriarty made him jump. Sherlo- he wasn’t a fraud,” his voice broke at the end.

Molly breathed heavily, unsure how to respond. Her eyes burned as she felt tears collecting at the corner of her eye.

“Jesus, John, no one here thinks that,” Greg said, taking a step towards him. “Molly here was only doing her job, the best way she could. And she did it for you, so that right now you wouldn’t have to be listening to one of those arses who hate Sherlock.”

“Thank you,” Molly mouthed to him and he nodded.

“I can’t be here anymore,” John stood up, “I’m sorry, Molly,” he couldn’t even meet her eye, “but I just can’t,” and with that he left the room.

 

_PRESENT TIME_

Molly tried to clear her mind as she felt tears coming up her eyes once more. She sniffed quietly, turned her back to Sherlock and tried to roll into a ball as small as she could.

It took her time, but at last she fell asleep. It was a hurried sleep, interrupted by the image of John Watson breaking into pieces in front of her.

In one of the times she woke up she found herself wrapped by Sherlock. She was still with her back to him and he had his hand her waist, hugging her close to his chest. She felt safer in his arms and returned to her haunted sleep.

The next time she woke, she was alone. Sherlock’s side of the bed was not only empty, but cold. She got up quickly and ran out of the bedroom to find Sherlock standing by the living room’s window with his back to her.

“I used you shower while you were sleeping, hope you don’t mind,” he said.

“Not at all,” she mumbled, relived he was there. For a moment she feared he already left to bring down Moriarty’s network.

“Also, Mike Stamford left a massage on your answering machine. He said you could take a few days off as he is aware you were… fond of me,” his voice trailed off for a moment before he completed the sentence. He turned around to her.

“You look better,” Molly remarked.

“Nice of you, but I know when you’re lying, Molly. You, on the other hand, do look a bit better. Sleep well?”

“Some of the time.”

“Yes.”

Molly wondered whether she should bring up the fact that he hugged her in the middle of the night, but decided against it. She didn’t know he was even aware of doing so. And besides, even he were, he probably preferred thinking she didn’t know about it.

“Sherlock?” Molly asked.

“Yes?”

“What now?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay. I'm just not going to make more promises ever again.

_PRESENT TIME_

They stood in silence with Molly’s question hanging in the air like a guillotine above their heads, waiting to be released down to their necks. From the expression Sherlock was wearing, Molly realized he hadn’t thought how he will take down Moriarty’s network, but that he only knew he had to do so.

Her cellphone’s cheerful ringtone broke the silence and Molly jumped to search for it.

“Mum,” she answered after checking the caller’s ID. She smiled an apology to Sherlock as she listened to her mother speak.

“Well, um, now isn’t really the best time,” she paused, “yes.”

Her mother kept talking and pink blush started spreading across her cheeks. When she noticed Sherlock’s raised eyebrow her blush only reddened.

“I’m not in love with him, mum,” she whispered, turning away from the blue eyed man, who sighed in boredom at Molly’s words. “He’s a friend. Was,” she hurried to correct herself, “was a friend and a colleague.” She listened to her mother for another moment before answering, “Yes, but its fine, mum. I’m fine. I mean, I’m exhausted, and there’s still the funeral, which will probably be tomorrow, but I’m fine.” Molly played with sofa’s cushions, rearranging them as she listened again. “Christ, no, mum. You don’t need to come. Honestly, I’m fine.”

Her mother said a few more words, and then Molly told her she loved her and hang up. She looked at Sherlock, who was now sitting on Molly’s favorite armchair, with her laptop resting on his knees. When he sensed her stare, he looked up to her and said, “I’m coming up with a plan. But this was rather amusing,” the corner of his lips curled up.

“Oh, shut up, will you?” She said and turned to the kitchen. “Do you want some coffee?”

“Yes. Black-“

“-Two sugars. I know.”

She went to the kitchen, put the kettle on and took out two mugs. Her thoughts drifted as she waited for the water to boil.

_ABOUT 29 HOURS EARLIER_

 

The clock almost hit eleven PM when Molly finally decided it’s time to go home. She had a rough day, operating on a young girl who was killed by her drunk father and later having to face Sherlock, who made her cancel her lunch date.

“For the sake of law and order, I suggest you avoid all future attempts at a relationship, Molly,” his cold voice floated in her mind along with the image of him waving the bag of crisps.

“What a git,” Molly thought to herself, “but I still rushed to help him.” She wasn’t sure how mad at herself she was for caving down at his demand since, after all, she loved helping Sherlock. Sure, he could be awful to be around sometimes, but it was worth it for the precious moments of watching him solve a case.

She turned off the lights in the lab and headed to the door when she heard his low voice behind her. She jumped around in surprise to see Sherlock standing a few feet from her, looking away. “You do count,” he continued, “you’ve always counted and I’ve always trusted you. But you were right,” he turned to look at her, and Molly wondered if he can deduct from afar the fast beating of her heart. “I’m not okay.”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she breathed out, her weight shifting from one leg to the other. She had a feeling earlier that day that she did manage to break the wall surrounding him and see how he feels, even if only a glimpse of it.

“Molly, I think I’m going to die,” he stepped forward.

“What do you need?”

“If I wasn’t everything that you think I am, everything that I think I am,” with every word he came closer to her, so close that she feared he will feel her shallow, quick breaths, “would you still want to help me?”

The small twitch of his brow lifting up with hi last question, the seriousness of his voice, it all made her realize she would do everything for him. “What do you need?” she asked again.

“You.”

_PRESENT TIME_

The hot dark fluid was vibrating in the two cups Molly held as she made her way back to the living room, creating small circular ripples. She placed Sherlock’s cup on the table in front of him, and then set on the sofa with her legs up against her chest, the cup resting on her knees with her hands wrapped around it for the warmth.

Sherlock was typing rapidly on the computer, muttering to himself things she could not follow even if she wanted to. After a few moments he reached for his coffee and took a sip. Only after placing his cup he looked at Molly. “What’s wrong?” he asked her.

“Oh, um, nothing, really,” she murmured. She sighed at Sherlock’s raised eyebrow, “Well, it’s just that when you came to the lab and asked for my help, I only thought about how to get you alive out this mess and I didn’t even think about, you know, now. What’s going to happen and how, and I- I’m just so worried, Sherlock,” it all came out quickly, as if she has been keeping it inside for a much longer time.

“I know, Molly. I’m trying to figure this out.”

They were quiet for the rest of the day. Molly used her unexpected free time at home to do laundry and other chores, while Sherlock worked around the flat- either sitting in front of her laptop or pacing around without saying a word.

She made them lunch but he barely touched it, the only thing he agreed to out in his mouth was either coffee, tea or water. And most of what he said all day were complains of her tea.

The phone rang again at evening, and Molly rushed to answer.

“Molly, dear, it’s Mrs. Hudson,” the voice on the other end told her.

“Oh, hello. How are you?” Molly asked.

“Ah, not very well, but not as bad as John.” At the mention of John, Molly walked quickly to the kitchen. She didn’t want Sherlock hearing about him.

“He didn’t step out of his flat, you know? He’s only sitting in his armchair, staring where Sher-“ she sniffed, “-you know, how they used to sit across from each other. I tried to get him to at least eat something, but nothing. He barely even speaks to me.”

“Christ, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hudson,” Molly said.

“Thank you, dear, thank you, “they were quiet for a moment before Mrs. Hudson continued, “Well, I was calling about the funeral. His brother organized it so quickly, its tomorrow. Will you come?”

“Y-yes, of course,” Molly stuttered.

Mrs. Hudson gave her the detail of the funeral and they exchanged goodbyes.

“Going to my funeral tomorrow?” Molly jumped around.

“No one ever told you it’s impolite to listen on others’ conversations?”

“You were talking aloud.”

“You’re probably dying to come, aren’t you, Sherlock?”

His face soured, “you puns are always a delight, Molly.”

“Oh,” she gasped, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, but, you know, it would just be very like you, going to your own funeral.”

“Yes,” the corner of his lip curled up, “it would. But not this time, I’m afraid, it won’t be safe.”

“Yes. Well, I think I’ll go to sleep now. Are you…” she trailed off, too afraid of asking if he’ll join her.

“I don’t think I will be sleeping tonight, I have to think.”

“Yes.” She turned to leave to the kitchen but stopped when he said, “Sleep well, Molly Hooper.” She mumbled a thanks and left for her bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need some information on English Christian funerals. Contact me here or on tumblr (jenlock-pilgrim.tumblr.com) if you can help!


End file.
